


Scackson Week MiniFics

by TheSmidge



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Dream Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:56:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5168060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSmidge/pseuds/TheSmidge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three minifics written for Scott/Jackson week :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> These were written quickly so I could post something for each day of [ScacksonWeek](http://fyeahscottxjackson.tumblr.com/post/96762327434/scott-x-jackson-week-nov-1st-to-7th). Hence the complete nonsensicalness of them.

He can feel his heartbeat against his ribs. His breath clawing out of him and misting in the cold fall air. The woods seem endless as he runs, fog hiding the horizon and only the deep brown of the trees breaks through. Leaves crunch under foot as his eyes search for something. A sweet scent wafts through the damp air. Calling to him. Twisting he runs towards it, feet hitting the ground harder, faster.

Throat now burning he comes to a stop. Ahead of him a figure moves. Silvery moonlight breaks through the branches of a large tree above them dancing strange patterns against snow white skin. 

A howl rips out of Scott and disperses into the night, it’s a throaty noise that cuts through the stillness reverberating in the air. 

The figure starts, it’s head turning to face him with crystal clear eyes. Jackson’s eyes.

Time shifts, displaces perhaps, either way Scott is stood now, hands pressed against the bark of the tree as he towers over Jackson. Heat spreads through him with a hunger he’s not sure how to sate. Keening he drops to his knees, pushing Jackson to the soft undergrowth. He drags his nails down the smooth fabric of Jackson’s shirt, tearing into it with slow and precise cuts. The shredded fabric disappears as it falls on top of the leaves. 

Skin now bare Jackson shifts under him, desperate and wanting. Trying to find the friction Scott is offering.

Scott hums as he swipes his tongue across hardened nipples. The taste of sweat following the action. But it’s not enough. He needs more. 

He nuzzles against the soft skin of Jackson’s neck, letting his teeth scrape across the delicate skin ,before sinking in. Blood fills his mouth, a deep coppery taste. 

Jackson lets out a shout, but his hands take hold of Scott’s head holding him in place. Begging for release, bucking his hips up, grinding against Scott’s thigh.

Lapping at stray droplets of blood that streak across flushed skin, Scott pulls away. 

Things twist once more and Jackson is on all fours below him. His cock thick with desire thrusting inside Jackson's tightness. 

It’s too tight, too much and-

Scott wakes hot and needy, his cock hard and leaking precum in his boxers. His sheets are a damp tangle around his legs where he’d tried to kick them off in the night. The dream lingers in his mind as he reaches between his legs. Half asleep he jerks himself off quickly, stifling his cry into his pillows. The come down is quick, and a cold shiver runs down his spine as he realises what the dream was. Still a warmth settles in his abdomen, and he almost wants to fall back into it. To see more, feel more. Shame keeps him from it, a fear that if he gives in it won’t stop.


	2. Fireworks

The cold air wraps around him as he makes his way on to the roof. A cloudless night sky provides the perfect canvas for the feignt lights of the firewars in the distance. 

He expects to be alone but a dark silhouette is leaning against the far wall. The figure doesn’t move at the sound of Scott’s footsteps, it’s head tilted towards the sky. He almost decides to make his way to way back to the celebration but stops himself, too intrigued to find out who like him needed some space from the festivities.

As he draws closer the silhouette becomes clearer, revealing Jackson stood there. He doesn’t say anything as he leans close. They both stand in the relative quiet watching the fireworks.

He nudges Jackson’s arm with his elbow after a few minutes of silence. The action draws a sigh from Jackson but he turns all the same to look at Scott. The light from the fireworks dances across the green of Jackson’s eyes, reflected colours highlighting along sharp cheekbones. A wash of warmth causes his cheeks as their breath mingles between them. Eithers features distorted at their closeness. 

“I’ve still got a restraining order.” 

“I know.” Scott replies softly. “We are sorry.” He adds as an afterthought.

Jackson snorts. Which Scott understands, gets that there reasoning and their sorrys won’t ever be enough. That even if Jackson understands now why they did what they did it doesn’t excuse it. It’ll never not cause tension between them. Pack or not.

A couple more fireworks go off as the display wides up. Soon it will be over and they won’t be High School students any longer. A sobering thought. 

“I’m going to miss this.”

“Trust you McCall.” Jackson huffs.

“What!?” He exclaims indignantly.

“What exactly are you going to miss? It’s not like anything is going to change, you and the others are still going to be together. It’s me who's leaving”

“Well it’s not going to be the same without you.” It’s an admission too far, and he wants to laugh it off. To pretend that it was little more than a joke but Jackson is looking at him like he knows. All of a sudden they feel too close, too warm. Scott’s heart pounds as the press of lips takes him by surprise. Subconsciously his body reacts and he pushes closer. His hands grip hold of the fabric of Jackson’s shirt, twisting so tightly between his fingers until he’s convinced it'll rip. His eyes flutter shut as he falls into the sweetness of the kiss. Everything disappears from around them, all he knows is the taste of Jackson’s mouth, the soft slide of their mouths. 

In the space of a heartbeat he’s stumbling backwards falling to the ground blinking his shock away. He can feel the ghost of Jackson’s hand where he’d shoved him, but the pain is dull, nothing compared to the pain of the smirk playing on Jackson’s kiss red lips. 

“Really McCall.” Jackson taunts, but it’s little more than noise, a buzzing. His mind is muddled, confusion swimming making him question what he remembers. Each thought has him see a different scene, a slight twist upon the previous. Yet deep down he knows the truth, can see it in the way Jackson's eyes are filled with fear, the jerky way he steps back to lean against the wall. His smirk quivers in the corner as it starts to slip.

Pushing it though would accomplish little, Jackson would deny it all, would play this same game. And what would forcing Jackson to admit he kissed him, that it only happened because Jackson initiated it, really accomplish? Anything he was going to say gets lost in the noise of the door opening and Allison’s voice calling over to them in disapproval. 

“Can’t you two get along for once in your lives?” The others are behind her and he knows the moment is lost, that he too now has to play whatever games Jackson wants. Even so, a small part of him wants to forfeit, to push, to see what was behind the kiss.


	3. Diner

Rain falls in heavy droplets against the large windows of the diner. Scott is alone, once again being dumped with the night shift. He doesn’t mind really, it’s relatively slow most nights and he can study in the lulls. Still having been there since 11 and having only served three customers, and given one very lost tourist directions, he’s starting to wish he’d said no. 

The large clock that hangs on the wall ticks over to 3am. His shift ends around 6, another 3 hours and he can go. It’s going to drag he knows, and he finds himself almost begging for a customer to come in as he wipes down the counter for the millionth time.

When he’s almost given up hoping for someone to come in, the bell rings to signal the arrival of a customer. He doesn’t look up straight away, trying not to show his excitement at the company.

“Great that’s just what I needed.” Scott looks up then when the familiar voice calls out, surprised to see Jackson staring back at him. 

A moment passes in which Jackson, clearly defeated, decides to stay, even if he looks as though he’d rather drown out in the downpour. His woolen coat is sopping wet from the rain, dripping large puddles against the tiles as he walks towards the counter. A deep scowl darkens his face as he stares up at the menu. 

“What can I get you?” Scott asks after a minute, clearly too chirpy for Jackson, who glares up at him as he orders a simple black coffee.

“Want anything to eat with it” Scott adds as he pours the coffee. Silence follows it and he is about to ask again when Jackson finally responds.

“It’s 3am?” 

“Well I was going to do me some pancakes so.” He says instead of a direct reply. He waits watching for a response from Jackson but when nothing comes so he just shrugs and walks to the griddle to pour enough mixture for two portions anyway. Once the pancakes are done he grabs two plates from the warming rack, then plates up the pancakes before grabbing some fresh fruit to spoon over them with a drizzle of maple syrup. 

The plates clink against the countertop as he places then down. Jackson stares at them, a clear argument forming on his lips.

“Just eat them, it's not like you have to pay for them.” Scott says between bites. 

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence after that. Scott wants to ask so many questions, so much time has passed since the last time he saw Jackson. More than that however he wants to know why Jackson looks so miserable. Why someone like Jackson would be walking into a diner on the edge of town at 3am in the pouring rain. It seems intrusive, they aren’t friends anymore, not that they really ever had been in the first place. So he stays quiet and watches Jackson try to dry off with the corner of his coat. 

The silence begins to take it’s toll after a few minutes. Scott can practically feel it push against him. The sadness in Jackson’s movements, the strange tension to his shoulders. All of it has him take pity on Jackson, and with a casual ‘here’ he passes over a towel so Jackson can at least try and dry himself properly.

Jackson just looks at him cautiously before taking the offered towel with a quiet thanks that sounds too angry to be real. Either way Jackson puts down his fork and wipes over his face and hair, and finally peeling himself from his coat. 

The silence is lighter after that. Small bits of conversation flows between them as they drink cup after cup of coffee. The rain has long since stopped by the time Jackson looks to leave. Any excuse for having stayed so long washed away with it. 

Scott almost has the courage to ask what had happened to make Jackson so melancholy, but the words are barely formed in his head when the door opens for the morning staff to wander in. Another missed chance. Jackson is gone by the time he has greeted Isaac. It’s not all that surprising if he’s honest but still he’d hoped that Jackson had stayed. 

He grabs his things and makes his way out with a good by to the others, only just noticing the card left under condiments by where Jackson had been sat. He picks it up turning it over in his hands. It’s a business card, one for the firm Mr. Whittemore owns, with all of Jackson’s contact details printed on. The other side has a quickly scribbled note of thanks, though what for Scott doesn’t know. Nor care. Yet it gives him an odd sense of calm, and as he walks out into the morning light the feeling grows.


End file.
